


The Sum of the Parts

by SorchaR



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Knitting, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Phone Sex, Unrepentant Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaR/pseuds/SorchaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every good song tells a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've?)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I made myself an Arthur/Eames playlist, and then I thought, "Hey, wouldn't it be fun to write short fics for each of these songs that form an overall story?"
> 
> TWO YEARS LATER...
> 
> Yeah. Anyway, each chapter relates to a song on the playlist - some are closely related to the actual lyrics, and some were inspired more by the general feeling of the song. I've included YouTube links for each song (some are the official videos and some aren't), but I believe the tracks are all available on iTunes if you really like any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by The Buzzcocks [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0G0AF0g08aU).

The first time Arthur and Eames meet, it takes less than an hour of working together before they've established that Arthur considers Eames to be a lecherous slacker. His actual words are something along the lines of "Mr. Eames, you're losing focus on the work, and that last comment could be construed as sexual harrassment," since he was raised by parents who believed manners to be second only to breathing in importance.

This is about the time they've also established that Eames finds Arthur to be a tight-assed know-it-all who needs a good stiff drink and a long hard fuck. His actual words are...well, those. 

Apparently, Eames was raised by badgers.

They snipe at each other all day, until the extractor is threatening to shoot them both. "You two need to get your shit together," he snarls at Arthur as he leaves their workspace for the day. Eames is staring innocently out the window, as if none of this is his fault at all. "You're both good, but neither of you is irreplaceable."

An uncomfortable silence fills the room like thick smoke, until Eames clears his throat. "Well. I suppose that was clear enough, wasn't it?" He moves closer to Arthur, close enough that they can feel each other's body heat.

"I guess." They're close to the same height, and Arthur turns to look Eames in the eye. "What do you think we should do about it?" 

It's a challenge rather than an actual question, but Eames grins. "I can think of two ways of getting rid of...interpersonal tension," he says, looking Arthur up and down slowly. 

Arthur returns the look with a smirk. "Oh, yeah?" He moves even closer, their foreheads almost touching. "Tell me."

Eames shrugs. "We fight it out..." He leans closer. "Or we fuck it out."

Their breath is mingling now, both hearts pounding, and Arthur hmms. "Job's dangerous enough without adding more violence," he muses, "and I have to admit, you're an annoying asshole, but you're an _attractive_ annoying asshole."

Eames laughs. "Well, then, Arthur, your room or mine?"

Arthur glances deliberately at the architect's worktable, as yet bare of models and blueprints, then back at Eames, and in the next breath, the tension breaks. With a growl, Eames pulls Arthur into a hard, hungry kiss, while Arthur does his best to shimmy up Eames's body and wrap his legs around his waist. They manage an awkward stumble-walk to the table, and the minute Arthur's trousers and briefs are off, Eames lifts him onto the table. "I have a condom," he mutters against Arthur's mouth, "but no lube."

Arthur's tugging at the buttons of Eames's shirt, and he grunts. "Why the fuck would you have a condom but no lube?"

"Some of us do fuck women," Eames retorts. In lieu of an answer, Arthur leans forward and latches onto one nipple, and Eames digs his fingers into Arthur's hair. "There's - fuck, that's good, use your teeth - there's that expensive fucking hand lotion Amie uses." It's in a drawer in this very table, and he fumbles inside until he finds it.

"Does it have petroleum in it?" Arthur mumbles, nosing into Eames's chest hair on his way to the other nipple. "Can't use that with the rubber."

"You expect me to read at a time like this?" Eames grumbles, but he holds the little bottle up and looks at it, almost cross-eyed. "No. No petroleum."

Arthur keeps sucking and licking for a moment, then makes a pleased noise. "Carry on, then. Actually." He pulls back and holds out his hand. "Give me the condom."

Eames hands it over and Arthur nudges him back a couple of steps. He unwraps the condom and tucks it into his mouth, then drops to his knees. Waggling his eyebrows at Eames, he bends forward, rolling the  
condom over Eames's erection with his mouth.

"Fuck," Eames breathes, almost reverently, as he watches. Arthur hits bottom and gives Eames a few good, hearty sucks, then slides up and kisses him hard. 

"Back on the table," Eames growls, eyes fixed on Arthur's face.

Arthur complies, perching on the edge and licking his lips. "Well, Mr. Eames, you gonna fuck me for real, or is an avid eyefuck the best I can hope for?"

Eames grins and steps between Arthur's thighs, pushing them further apart and back. He slicks two fingers with lotion and presses them into Arthur's ass slowly. Arthur leans back on his elbows, head falling back and eyes closing as a soft purr escapes hims. Eames works his fingers in and out slowly, eyes fixed on Arthur's face. After a minute, Arthur begins to move restlessly, hips twisting against Eames's hand as the sounds he's making become desperate whimpers.

"Goddammit, Eames, fuck me already!"

Eames leans forward and kisses Arthur hard. "Say please."

"If my pants weren't down on the floor," Arthur growls, biting Eames's lower lip, "I'd get my knife and fucking show you 'please.'"

Eames throws his head back and laughs. "Arthur, I think I may just marry you someday."

"Yes, fine, whatever, if you'll just fucking fuck me." Arthur rocks down hard onto Eames's fingers, which haven't stopping working inside him this whole time. "I'll fucking have your babies if you'll just shove your cock up my ass."

"That won't be necessary, darling," Eames says with another laugh. He pulls his fingers out and holds his cock steady, pressing into Arthur slowly enough that they both groan. He bottoms out and pauses to get hold of himself. 

"Goddammit, _move_ ," Arthur says between gritted teeth, legs tightening around Eames's waist.

"If I move," Eames mutters, eyes squeezed shut so as not to be overwhelmed by the sight of Arthur impaled on his dick, "this will be over in about two seconds. Give me a minute, yeah?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, but doesn't try to push the issue, and Eames takes a moment, breathing hard, eyes still closed. After a bit, he opens his eyes and grins down at Arthur. "Ready for me, darling?"

"I was ready ten minutes ago," Arthur snaps. "Now I'm just bored."

Eames's grin turns feral. "We can't have that." As the word "that" leaves his mouth, he pulls out and slams in hard enough to nudge Arthur up the table. "Better?"

Arthur's head falls back and he groans. "Fucking finally."

Eames stands up straight, hands gripping Arthur's hips as he fucks him with short, sharp thrusts. Arthur's flat on his back, legs clenching on Eames's ribs, and Eames watches as he fumbles for the lotion. He squirts about half the bottle on his hand and grabs his cock, working it hard and fast. "C'mon, you bastard, fuck me."

"Because up until now I've just been reading poetry," Eames grumbles, but he takes it up a notch, throwing his hips in tight circles and sliding one hand up Arthur's side to pinch his nipple. Arthur yowls and bucks, and Eames gives a filthy chuckle and does it again. 

One more pinch, this time with fingernails, and Arthur comes, cursing a blue streak. Eames throws his head back and thrusts a few more times, grunting deep in his chest as release takes him. Arthur's still twitching a little around his cock when he slumps forward, burrowing into Arthur's neck to bite the spot where it meets his shoulder.

"No marks," Arthur mutters, pushing at his chest. 

With a regretful little sigh, Eames straightens up and pulls out, though he pauses to steal one more kiss. Arthur sits up slowly, wincing a little, and Eames doesn't even try to hide his smirk.

Arthur flips him off and stretches, then rolls his neck. "Think it worked?" When Eames just blinks, he says, "This. Think we'll be able to work together?"

Eames pauses to think. "I don't know. We may have to try again."

"As annoying as you are? I'd say it's a definite possibility." Arthur's lips twitch. "Damn the luck."

Eames looks at the lotion bottle, abandoned forlornly on the floor. "We may want to bring our own lube, though."

Arthur pauses in fastening his belt and follows his gaze. "Er, yeah. Amie's not going to be pleased." He pauses, then picks up the bottle and shoves it in his pocket. "I will dispose of the evidence, and we will never speak of this again."

Eames leans forward and nips Arthur's earlobe. "Oh, no, darling, I plan to speak of this whenever possible."


	2. Eyes Like Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (song by Shakira [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN4J24vyoU8).)

It's been almost six weeks since the job ended, and Arthur can't get Eames out of his head. His self control is good, though, and he manages to restrain himself from calling around to get Eames's contact information.

He doesn't manage, however, to restrain himself from thinking about Eames every time he jacks off. And he also doesn't manage to restrain himself from sleeping with a guy he picks up in a cafe in Caracas, just because the guy has a British accent, a few tattoos, and a nice mouth.

He's close to giving in, despite not even knowing whether Eames wants to hear from him, when he gets a text from a number he doesn't recognize.

_Darling. I hear you're in Portland. I'm in Vancouver. Meet you halfway? I've never been to the Space Needle. Also, I thought I saw a freckle behind your right ear and I want to double-check._

Arthur grins and grabs the keys to his rental car.


	3. Essence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Lucinda Williams [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjkGCVXMSnU).

Arthur has been riding Eames's cock for what seems like a year. This wouldn't normally be a problem, because Eames would be able to roll him over and take control.

Unfortunately, Eames, in a moment of kinky optimism, allowed Arthur to tie his wrists to the bedposts.

"Arthur," he groans, "c'mon, you're driving me mad." He thrusts up, and it helps, but it's not enough.

"That's the idea," Arthur says, smirking down at him. He reaches up to rub one of his own nipples, and Eames actually growls, because his mouth should be there instead.

He rolls his hips in a slow figure eight, and Eames gives a strangled moan. "You do realize that payback is a bitch?"

Arthur laughs and bends to kiss him. "That," he breathes against Eames's lips, "is kind of what I'm hoping for."


	4. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Zero 7 [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idtRhja2rAM).

Eames has been hiding out for the past three weeks after a botched job when his phone rings.

His phone should not be ringing. It's a burn phone and nobody has the number. He's tempted to flush it, but takes a look at the Caller I.D. first. No name, but a number he definitely recognizes.

With a smile, he hits the answer button. "If you were anyone else, I'd ask how you got this number."

On the other end, Arthur laughs. "If you were anyone else, I wouldn't have bothered trying."

"Darling! Does this mean you've grown to care for me?"

A snort answers him. "It means that the extractor I'm working for is a micromanaging asshole and I need to relieve some stress or I'm going to strangle him."

So it's to be phone sex, then. Eames can certainly work with that - and he notices that Arthur didn't actually deny that he cares. "Mm. And what sort of stress relief are we talking about? Some poetry reading? A bit of improvisational comedy? Or is this the part where I tell you to get your hand down your pants?"

"You romantic schemer, you," Arthur says dryly. "What makes you think I'm even wearing any?"

"Living dangerously," Eames comments.  "I approve."

Arthur laughs. "Given what we do for a living, I can't believe you just said that. Anyway, I just got out of the shower."

Eames has a brief vision of Arthur wrapped in steam, water sluicing over his skin, and he has to take a moment to compose himself. "Well, then." When he can breathe again, he undoes his trousers and takes his cock out, looking around quickly. Nothing slippery to hand, so he gets up, holding his trousers up with his free hand, and goes into the bathroom to grab the complimentary hand lotion. "Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about right now?" He shimmies out of his trousers and stretches out on the bed, naked from the waist down.  
  
"I'm thinking," Arthur drawls, "about Budapest. You remember Budapest, don't you?"

"Remember it? I almost came just from hearing you say it." That's not far from the truth, either. "Anything in particular, darling?"

"Hmm..." The sound sends a little shiver down Eames's spine, and he begins stroking himself slowly. "I kind of keep going back and forth between when you knocked me to the floor and fucked me so hard I had carpet burn for three days, and when I tied you down and ate you out until you were begging for my dick."

"Jesus," Eames groans, arching up into his fist. "You get right to the point, don't you?"

Arthur laughs, low and dirty. "I'd rather save the slow buildup for when we're in the same room." His voice breaks a little on the last word. "You know what my favorite part of Budapest was?" He doesn't wait for Eames to reply. "It was sitting on that godawful rickety bed with you on your knees sucking me off.  You have no idea how good your mouth looks wrapped around my cock, but trust me, it's the kind of thing that priests leave the Church for."

"Is it, then?" Eames murmurs, thumbing the head of his cock. He's not going to last much longer if Arthur keeps talking like this, but he's not complaining.

"Mmhmm. And what you do with your tongue..." Arthur groans deep in his chest. "Right under the head of my dick, fuck, it's good."

Eames laughs a little, but it's strangled. "Keep talking. You're doing great things for my cock and for my ego."

"Damn, your ego's big enough already." Arthur gasps softly. "But that's okay, because your cock is, too."

"Flatterer." It would be rude of Eames not to return the favor.  "Have I told you how much I love your nipples? They're nice and plump, fit perfectly in my mouth. And they get so hard when I play with them."

Arthur groans softly, and Eames continues, "Are you playing with your nipples now? I think you should."

"Yeah," Arthur breathes. "Pinching one, still jacking off...doesn't feel as good as when you do it..."

"What doesn't, darling? Touching your nipple or your cock?"

"Both...fuck, Eames, want you...want your dick inside me..."

Eames swallows hard, fighting to hold on just a little longer. "I'm gonna give it to you the next time I see you, till you can't fucking walk."

"God, yes...Close..."

_Thank God_. "C'mon then," he murmurs. "Come for me, Arthur."

"Fuck, yeah...ah!" Arthur's cry is soft, but no less intense for that, and it's all Eames needs to go over the edge. Teeth gritted, he curls up over himself, stomach flexing with the intensity of it as his cock jumps over his hand.

Finished, he flops back on the bed. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" he teases, still a bit breathless.

"I suck your dick with it," Arthur retorts. "Any other stupid questions?"

Eames laughs a little. "When's your job done?"

"Sometime within the next three weeks." There's rustling at Arthur's end, and Eames guesses he must be cleaning up. "When can you come out of hiding?"

"Mm, about the same time, I'm thinking. Depends on when they lose interest. Want to plan on meeting up?" Eames sits up and goes into the bathroom to wash up.

"God, yes.  New York?"

"Lovely. I'll get in touch when it's safe."

"All right." Arthur yawns. "I should get to bed. Early morning, and I need to have enough sleep to be rational so I don't kill the extractor."

"That's probably best. " Eames pauses. "Sleep well, Arthur."

He can almost hear Arthur's smile. "You too, Mr. Eames."


	5. No Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Icehouse [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-o9BCQP0cns).

Arthur has just finished getting dressed and Eames is down the street getting them breakfast when it becomes patently clear that their present job has gone spectacularly off the rails. Thankfully, it becomes clear via a phone call to Arthur from their chemist, telling them they've got approximately ten minutes to disappear, rather than becoming clear from someone putting new holes in their heads.

It takes Arthur twenty seconds  to destroy his cell phone and flush the pieces down the toilet, and less than a minute to gather up anything they can't live without or that could get them caught. He shoves it all into his messenger bag, and after a look out the window to the street below to confirm it's clear, shimmies down the drainpipe.

He circles around the hotel the back way and waits in the alley by the coffee shop, back against the wall.  He clears his throat when Eames walks by, doing his best not to startle him, because Eames has the coffee and Arthur has priorities.

Eames ducks into the alley. "I'm guessing this is not part of some prostitution fantasy," he says.

"You're guessing right. C'mon."

They move quickly through the alleys until they're far enough from the hotel that it's safe to stop and take a breath. They're in the industrial district, and it's not hard to find an unused warehouse to break into so they can get out of the open.

The warehouse is filled with hideous sofas still wrapped in plastic, and Arthur takes out his knife and cuts the plastic off one, then flops down with a sigh. "I knew working with Weiss was a mistake. He has the brains of a gnat."

"And a dick to match," Eames says absently. When Arthur's eyebrows lift, he adds hastily, "So I've heard. I do have standards."

He settles down beside Arthur on the sofa and hands him his coffee and one of the croissants. "You think they'll give up on finding us any time soon?"

"Probably not," Arthur says. "But Dom and Mal have a safe house not too far away. We can go there once it's dark."

Eames nods, then clears his throat. "I'm absolutely not complaining, Arthur," he says slowly, "but I thought we agreed that when we were working together, it would be every man for himself."

Arthur shrugs, but he won't look at Eames. "The risk of coming for you was outweighed by the value of having you at my back."

Eames's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't push it. "How long till dark, d'you think?"

Arthur glances at his watch. "This time of year? Sunset's around six, so about nine hours."

"Huh." Eames thinks about that. "We'll have to figure out some way to entertain ourselves till then."

Arthur's grin is sly. "I'm sure we can think of something."


	6. Carey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Joni Mitchell [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bulwl46vz9s).

Eames is inexplicably charmed to learn that Arthur knits.

They're sitting at a cafe in Rome, watching their mark across the room; they seem to be working together a lot more these days. Arthur reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out what looks like a wad of scarlet yarn; as he smooths it out, Eames sees that it's the front of a jumper with a large "P" in gold on the front.

Arthur gets to work, but after a moment he realizes that Eames is staring. "What?"

"You knit."

Arthur gives him an odd look. "Yes, I'm aware. So?"

"I just...I never envisioned you like this." Eames gestures vaguely. "It's almost...domestic."  
  
"I knit so that I don't kill people," Arthur says crisply, lifting his work to look at it with a critical eye.

Eames frowns. "But darling, you _do_ kill people."

"Only for work. Anyway, it's just a knitting joke." Apparently satisfied with what he sees, Arthur starts binding off. "I wouldn't normally knit while I'm on surveillance, but you're here to watch the mark too, and I need to finish this for Philippa's birthday." He indicates the "P." "She's really into Harry Potter right now."

Eames nods sagely as if he has any idea what that means. "So, how come you've never knit anything for me?"

Arthur smirks. "I'm usually too busy getting your clothes off to take your measurements."

"Mm, you may have a point," Eames concedes, trying not to sound wistful.

Arthur cocks his head. "Do you want me to make you something?"

"Nah," Eames says offhandedly. "Don't want to inconvenience you."

A few weeks later, when Arthur's in Ulaanbataar, Eames receives a package at his place in Mombasa. He opens it, and inside he finds a pair of soft, grey cable-knit socks. There's a note.

_Without your measurements, socks are the best I can do. I realize you can't use them in your current location, but you did say something about a trip to Moscow you might be taking. Hand wash and dry flat if you want them to continue to fit._

Eames wears them to bed every night he's in Russia.


	7. When the Stars Go Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by The Corrs and Bono [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKTlsabYEj0).

Mal jumps, and Arthur falls apart.

Oh, not at first. The moment he gets the news, he goes into crisis-management mode. He arranges the funeral, stays with the kids until Mal's mother can settle in with them,  and coordinates Dom's flight from the country. He withstands intense questioning from the police about Mal's death and Dom's whereabouts, and does it all without so much as a hair out of place.

Until the night he shows up at Eames's hotel room, utterly shell-shocked.

Eames had suspected that Arthur might need him, so he'd hung around after the funeral, and now he guides Arthur into his room and sits him down on the bed. He never travels without an electric kettle unless he's been forced to abandon his belongings in a getaway, so he makes Arthur a cup of tea and sits down next to him. Arthur drinks it slowly, and though his expression doesn't change, the trembling stops. When he's done, Eames takes the cup and sets it aside, then pulls Arthur close.

"Let it out," he murmurs. "I've got you."

Arthur shakes his head and tries to pull away, but then he draws a shaky breath and breaks down.  Eames just holds him and rubs his back, murmuring softly, and finally Arthur speaks.

"They made me look at pictures," he says, voice choked. "The police. They were trying to get me to tell them where Dom was, and they had pictures of Mal, after, right there on the pavement..."

He shudders. "I've seen a lot of dead people - fuck, I've killed people - but this was...she was my friend, Danny, my best friend, and they shoved those pictures in my face. I threw up all over them."

"Bastards," Eames murmurs. This is why he doesn't like cops - well, one of the many reasons. "And you didn't give an inch."  
  
"Goddamn right." Arthur wipes his eyes. "He didn't do it. You know he didn't do it, right?"

Eames rests his chin on the top of Arthur's head. "Of course he didn't. He was devoted to her. This business...it can get to even the strongest of us."

He pulls back and looks down at Arthur. "Stay here tonight. I don't think you should be alone."

Arthur hesitates, then nods. "Okay." He smiles a little. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Eames is just glad he can do something. He doesn't dare risk giving Arthur Valium without knowing how much he's had to drink, so instead he plies him with water and paracetamol, then settles him into bed. He watches till Arthur's asleep, then slips in beside him and kisses his temple. 

"Good night, Arthur," he says softly. "I hope Dom knows how lucky he is to have you."


	8. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Oingo Boingo [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwRnW89EsxI).

Eames lies on his side on the bed and watches Arthur dress. "Do you really have to leave so abruptly all the time, darling? I'm beginning to feel used."

Arthur refuses to pay attention to the stab of guilt he feels. He has, in fact, been coming and then going, so to speak, a lot lately, and he doesn't appreciated being forced to acknowledge it. If he has to acknowledge that, then he has to acknowledge the reason behind it.

"I have to be in Florence tomorrow night," he says shortly, back to the bed as he buttons his shirt.

"And you can be there in plenty of time if you leave by noon." Eames sits up. "What's going on, Arthur? Why are you suddenly acting like you can't stand being around me?"

Arthur sighs. "That's not it, okay?" He realizes that Eames isn't going to let this go, and he turns around. "Don't get so...intense. We had a good thing going."

"'Had'?" Eames stands and comes closer. "Arthur, are you leaving me?"

"No," Arthur says, but a bead of sweat trickles down his back.  "I'm just wondering when this got to be more than what it was supposed to be."

"Ah, I see. More than just sex, you mean." Eames leans either hand against the dresser, pinning Arthur to it. "When did we come to this agreement? Was I in the room at the time? "

Arthur ducks under his arm nimbly and rummages under the bed for his shoes. "Just...fuck, Eames, why are you making this so complicated? Why can't we just enjoy what we have?"

"If I knew what exactly we have," Eames replies, more than a touch of acid in his voice, "I could answer that. But apparently what I think we have and what you think we have are two completely different things."

Arthur's heart is hammering in his chest and it makes him angry, so he says the nastiest thing he can think of. "What the fuck, Eames, are you practicing to forge a thirteen-year-old girl?"

The moment the words are out, he wishes he hadn't said them - especially when he sees the look on Eames's face. "Eames, I - "

"If you want to go, then go," Eames says coldly. "But the next time you want to fuck someone and leave before your cock's gone soft, do me a favor and hire a whore - or whore yourself out, I don't care."

Arthur's mouth tightens and he resolutely ignores the hollowness in the pit of his stomach. "Fine." He grabs his coat. "It's been fun. Mostly." He flings the door open and storms out.

He's fine. He's just fine. It was time for them to move on anyway. He's fine.

Except for the way his stomach is churning and the rush of blood in his ears, and the feeling that he's made the worst mistake of his life, he's fine.

He's fine.


	9. Bizarre Love Triangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Frente! [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ1c9ErCn7w).

Eames had known he'd miss Arthur.

He just hadn't known how much.

He tries telling himself that the feeling's just temporary. After all, it's not like he and Arthur were living together. Hell, they've often gone weeks without seeing each other.  But during those times, he always knew they'd see each other again.

None of that matters. He's got a hole inside that aches like a cold wind on his teeth, and there's nothing that will make it go away.

Nothing that he can actually have, anyway.


	10. Blood and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by The Indigo Girls [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3rpflxUx8g).

It takes Arthur approximately an hour after leaving Eames to realize that he's made the biggest mistake of his life - which is saying something, considering some of the spectacular fuck-ups he's pulled off.

What the fuck made him think that he could just walk away from Eames? How could he still think what they had was casual? It stopped being casual a long time ago; he realizes that now. The fact that he went to Eames after Mal...well, granted, he didn't really have anyone else, but if Eames had been just a good fuck, Arthur would have just gotten through that awful night alone. He would never have let someone he didn't care about see him like that.

He should have realized then. Maybe it wouldn't have made him more comfortable with the idea, but it might have least given him time to get used to it, instead of doing something so spectacularly fucking stupid as walking out.

Knowing himself, though, probably not.


	11. Difficult Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Sheryl Crow [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNwlVExyHiw).

The Cobol job has gone to hell, Dom's finally lost his goddamn mind, and Arthur has to train their new architect to do in a couple of weeks what it usually takes years to master. So really, he feels like he has enough stress on him already when Dom makes his little announcement.

"I gotta go visit Eames."

"Eames?" Arthur manages to keep his voice level even though his stomach is doing backflips. "No, he's in Mombasa. That's Cobol's back yard."

"A necessary risk."

Arthur's amazed that he can sound so calm when his heart's in his throat. "Plenty of good thieves." He really is concerned for Dom's welfare; he'd be raising these objections even if Dom was going to Mombasa to fetch the prophet Elijah. But he wouldn't have his heart in his throat while he did it.

"We don't just need a thief," Dom replies, shrugging into his jacket. "We need a forger."

Arthur could delude himself that if Dom knew about him and Eames, he wouldn't bring him in on the job, but he knows better. There's no way Dom would blow his only chance to get back to James and Philippa just to spare Arthur's delicate feelings. Arthur can, however, hope that Eames will turn Dom down.

It's about as useful as wishing for a talking pony with a leprechaun on its back. Dom brings Eames back with him; of course he does. Arthur decides to hope for something slightly more likely,  that they can just ignore each other politely except when absolutely necessary.

This is Eames, so of course that's not going to happen. Broken heart or not - and Arthur finds himself hating the possibility of "not" - he still derives unholy glee out of pulling Arthur's metaphorical pigtails. There's the snarky banter, as well, with an underlying bitterness on both sides that was never there before, but it almost seems like there's something else, too.

Like when Dom's talking about how everyone yearns for reconciliation, and Arthur senses, rather than sees, Eames stare at him, as if he can see Arthur's heart pounding at Dom's words.

Like when he's picking off the projections on the first level, and Eames is at his side with that rocket launcher and that comment about dreaming bigger.

(It doesn't sound like he's just talking about fighting projections, and Arthur finds himself hoping that's the case.)

Like when Eames is about to go under in the hotel. For a moment, it's like nothing ever changed, and most importantly, Eames is concerned for him.

Arthur doesn't know what to make of any of it. All he does know is that when he thinks about Eames, about how they left each other, he thinks about Saito asking Dom if he wants to become an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die alone.

And he knows that somehow, he has to fix what he broke.


	12. Panic Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Silversun Pickups [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AG8fugqFn9Q).

Eames and Arthur are the last two of their group left in the airport, and Eames decides he needs to take one last, desperate chance.

"Arthur," he calls.

Arthur turns, looking a little wary, but not angry or hostile. Eames finds this encouraging. "Yeah?"

Eames clears his throat. "I just wanted to say good work. Managing a kick in zero grav - I guess I was wrong about your imagination."

Arthur shifts and smiles. "High compliment," he says, and he's not being sarcastic. "Same to you. Forging two different people in one job isn't easy, I know."

"Well." Eames shrugs modestly, then hesitates. "I don't...I don't suppose you'd want to get a drink?"

"I...no, thanks."

Eames's stomach drops, but he forces himself to sound cheerful. "Never mind, I know it's not - "

Arthur shakes his head. "No, I don't mean...It's just that I need to decompress, you know? I feel like every nerve is wired to a car battery, and I need...well, I don't know if I <i>need</i> to be alone, but I think it's the best thing for other people if I am. Can I..." He shifts again, hands in pockets. "Can I get a rain check?"

Eames grins, and he feels like maybe he could fly. "Absolutely."


	13. I Drove All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Cyndi Lauper [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2y1TZXc5DiY).

A last-minute international flight isn't easy to get, and Arthur's not entirely sure Eames is back in Mombasa. It's only been two weeks since the Fischer job, but in their world that's enough time for someone's life to change completely.

He's got to try, though.

He walks up the rickety stairs to the third floor apartment with his heart in his throat. What if Eames has changed his mind?

He pauses before knocking to gather his courage, and just when he lifts his hand, the door opens. Eames gives a startled little jump, then smiles and puts away his pistol. "What brings you here?"

Arthur shrugs, trying to look casual. "Wanted to see if I could take you up on that rain check."

"God, yes," Eames says without hesitation. He grabs Arthur's hand and pulls him inside. They kiss, long and slow, and move to the sofa, still kissing. For the moment, everything else can wait.

When they finally part, Arthur rests his forehead against Eames's, his breathing rough. "I'm sorry. I love you, and I was an idiot and a complete asshole, and I'm so sorry."

He can feel Eames go still when he says "I love you," but before he has time to be worried, Eames is kissing him again, laying him back on the sofa.

He considers asking if they could move this to the bed, but the sofa's comfortable enough. Interrupting this moment would be a crime.


	14. Babylon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by David Gray [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANzKrSuUblc).

Eames is still cursing as he unlocks the door to the apartment he's rented in a run-down section of D.C.  The job sucked - it went off flawlessly, but it still sucked. His flight sat on the runway over two hours before it even took off, it was more like a roller-coaster than a plane when it did, and his suitcase apparently vanished into thin air sometime during the flight. Granted, he never goes on a job with anything he really cares about, but it's the principle of the thing. And now he's got to get a new electric kettle.

And after all that, it's home to a cold dark apartment and a lonely dinner from the semi-adequate diner around the corner.

Except.

Except that the lights and the heat are on.

Except that he can smell something cooking, something that smells a lot like beef stew.

Except that Arthur's poking his head out of the little kitchen, smiling. "I was afraid you'd been ambushed," he says, coming over to help Eames out of his coat. "Your flight landed almost two hours ago."

"Lost luggage," Eames says.  "I thought you were in Toronto."

"Finished early." Arthur sits him down on the sofa and rubs his shoulders. "The mark decided to take a vacation out of nowhere, so we had to move everything up. Figured I'd come bother you for a while."

"By warming up the house and making me dinner?" Eames leans his head back and looks up at him. "Clearly, we have vastly different definitions of the word 'bothering'."

Arthur grins and bites the tip of his nose. "Is that a problem?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Eames turns around, elbow on the back of the couch. "But I thought you couldn't cook."

"I'd like to say you were wrong, but I can't. It's canned stew in a crockpot. But it's <i>good</i> canned stew."

Eames stretches and groans. "I take back every nasty thing I've ever said about you."

Snickering, Arthur climbs easily over the back of the sofa and sits, pulling Eames's head into his lap. "Even the ones I don't know about?" he asks, playing with Eames's hair.

"Especially those." Eames closes his eyes for a blissful moment, then opens them again. "Stew's in a crockpot, you say?"

"Yep. Had to buy it, you didn't have one."

Eames smiles slowly. "In that case, we can leave it unattended for a bit and it won't burn." He stands and offers Arthur his hand. "Come along to the bedroom and let me thank you properly."


	15. Awake and Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Courtney Jones [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crAzJtH3PBg).

Eames owns a little beach cottage in the Bahamas, and he and Arthur have been there for two weeks now. The locals know Eames, and they're getting to know Arthur, and sometimes Eames thinks maybe they could just stay here forever.

They have fresh-caught fish roasting over a little fire, and Arthur is reclining in a battered beach chair, beer in hand, talking with Sidonie and Terence, their closest neighbors. He's wearing thin khakis rolled up to his calves  and a loose, half-buttoned white shirt with rolled-up sleeves that Eames recognizes as one of his. His hair is loose, curling in soft, dark waves around his face, and when he throws back his head and laughs, Eames's breath catches. He's never seen Arthur looking this relaxed, and it's beautiful.

The thought's in his head before he even realizes it's forming: _I don't ever want to live without him again._ Without consciously thinking about it, he walks over and drops to one knee by Arthur's chair.

Arthur cocks his head. "What - "

"Marry me."

Arthur stares at him. "What?"

"Marry me," Eames repeats. "I love you, Arthur. Marry me. Legally. Real names and everything."

Sidonie claps her hands together, and Terence whistles. The silence stretches out, and Eames's heart is just about to drop to his shoes when Arthur smiles.

"Where's my ring?"


	16. Stay Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Julia Nunes [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9A3fupyjsk).

The early morning air is cool, the light the gray of predawn, and Arthur wanders out onto the balcony while Eames is in the shower. The breeze feels good, and he sighs softly, closing his eyes.  He hasn't slept all night, and his eyes are dry, but he's not tired at all.

He's not sure how long he stands there when Eames wraps strong arms around his waist and kisses the nape of his neck. "Good morning," he murmurs in Arthur's ear.

Arthur leans his head back against Eames's shoulder . "Morning." His left hand is on the balcony rail, and Eames slides his own down Arthur's arm to link their fingers. Their brand-new rings gleam softly, and Arthur lifts their joined hands for a closer look. "I'm glad we went for the titanium," he says. "More durable."

"Such a romantic," Eames teases, nuzzling his neck.

Arthur laughs and turns, kissing him softly. "We just promised to put up with each other till death do us part," he says. "How much more romance do you need?"


End file.
